


In Which A Naughty Boy Learns Several Things, Including How To Make Girls Happy

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, F/M, Female Character of Color, Molestation, POV Second Person, Punishment, Spanking, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:18:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Violet teaches her little boy a few things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which A Naughty Boy Learns Several Things, Including How To Make Girls Happy

You’ve been staring at your babysitter, Miss Violet, for at least a full minute. You know that much, at least. You’re not sure if your mouth is open, or much of anything else, except the pink biscuit that goes in and out of her mouth.

“Is something wrong?” She’s using… that voice. You don’t know what it is about it, but it makes your belly clench, and a tingle start up between your legs.

“N-no,” you mumble, looking down at your own hands. The popsicle has already halfway melted down your wrist, a mess of sticky red, white, and blue. 

She tsks, looking at you with a condescending, knowing look, and your squirm, rubbing your thighs together. “Such a messy boy,” she says, and she takes your hand in hers; it’s so much bigger than yours, the fingers long and elegant. She brings your hand up to her mouth, and she _licks_ it, her pink tongue tracing the red and blue streaks from your trembling fingers (barely holding on to popsicle, which is still dripping) down to your wrist, over the pulse point. You’re frozen, and there’s a throbbing between your legs and a pounding in your ears. Your mouth is dry and your hands are clammy.

Her hand lifts your hair out of your face and even though you’re still transfixed with the way her tongue is hot and pink and wet, there’s something knowing in her expression.

“Do you think about girls a lot, messy boy?” She takes the popsicle from your unresisting fingers, casually sticking it into her mouth. She’s got her lips wrapped around it, and is watching you, still holding your wrist, her thumb brushing over the thin skin and blue veins. 

“Well, uh….” All the time, boys and girls. Long legs, slim fingers, broad shoulders… and other things, things that make you blush just to think about. 

“So you think about kissing girls?” She pulls you a little closer, until you’re both snug on the kitchen bench. “I think you do, because you’re a naughty little boy, aren’t you?” Her hand moves from your wrist to your face, tracing your jaw, then your lips.

“I’m… I’m a good boy,” you say, weakly and without much conviction. Your tongue darts out, tracing the tip of her finger. 

“Of course you are,” she says dismissively, then leans in close. You can smell the artificial strawberry on her breath. “But you want to kiss girls, right?”

“Um… yeah. Right.” You swallow thickly. 

“And you want to do it well, right?” She kisses your forehead, her lips barely brushing your skin. It tingles. 

“Right,” you say, more mesmerized than a bird facing a snake.

“So… how would you feel…,” her fingers tracing your lips again, her other hand now popsicle-less (did she drop it? You’d have heard clatter, right?) stroking your hair, “if I offered to teach you how to make girls happy?”

“I… I’d like that,” you stutter, staring directly into her eyes. 

“Kiss me,” she says, not moving.

You practically shove yourself forward, pressing your mouth against hers, your tongue rasping against her lips.

She pushes you away with a mildly annoyed expression. “Gently,” she admonishes, taking your face in both of her hands. “And slowly. You gotta go slow with girls.” She kisses you this time, and you let her, barely kissing back, although you can feel yourself starting to tremble. When her tongue strokes the seam of your lips, you open your mouth timidly, feeling her press it in. 

She pulls back, looking ruffled. “You can’t make her do all the work,” she says, “and you should use your hands as well.” She lets go of your face, taking both of your hands in hers, and places them on her shoulders. The cotton of her purple shirt is almost ticklish against your palms. “Run your hands up and down her arms, or her back.” She grins. “Or you can pull her hair, if she’s a really _naughty_ girl.”

You go back to kissing her, hands going up and down her arms, marveling at the soft smoothness of her skin.

“That’s my good boy,” she mumbles against your lip, and she pulls you closer, until you’re almost belly to belly, your arms going to wrap around her, one hand resting on the back of her neck. You can feel the tips of her hair ticking the back of your wrist, your fingertips brushing against her shoulder. “Girls like kissing….”

You like kissing too. She’s a good kisser, her tongue hot and long, making you shiver. It almost feels like you’re melting, pressing as close to her as you can. You even swing one leg over the bench, so that you’re straddling it. 

“Do you know what else girls like?” You’re pressed close to her, your eyelashes against her glasses. 

“W-what?” Your heart is pounding in your ears, your hands shaking. 

“Girls like it when you touch their boobs,” she whispers against your lips, and you blush dark, shivering again, harder this time. Blushing at the naughty word, and at the naughty thoughts that are going through your head. “Do you want to touch my boobs?”

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, pressing your face into her neck, barely speaking above a whisper. You can feel the vibration of your lips against her skin. It buzzes on your teeth a little bit. 

She takes your hand, pressing it up against her chest, and you gasp, a puff of warm air against her skin. Her breast is soft and small in your hand, and you can feel her nipple through her shirt. It’s hard, pressing against your palm. You’ve never felt anything like this before. “Doesn’t that feel nice? Do you like that, naughty boy?” She presses your fingers around her breast, and you can feel the flutter of her heartbeat, and the way her chest is rising and falling with each breath she took. 

“It… it feels very n-nice,” you mumble, and you press your thumb against her nipple. “It’s soft. It’s warm and it’s… I like it.” You squeeze again, a bit harder, and you shiver at the softness and the warmth and the… everything. Something in your stomach is dropping and something between your legs is rising, and you wonder vaguely if the two things are going to meet in the middle, as you rub your thighs together and kiss her with your lips and your tongue. 

“Do you know what else girls like?” She pulls back, and her hand is on your leg, and it’s moving up and in, along your thigh to the zipper of your jeans, pressing down on it, to the thing between your legs that’s throbbing and twitching all on its own. “Girls like it when boys have hard cocks, all for them.” She curves her fingers around you, her fingers barely felt through the denim of your jeans, and you squirm, squeezing your thighs together and tugging on her nipples with your fingers, because she makes some kind of… incredibly attractive noise whenever you do that, something like a squeak and something like a moan. “Is this for me, naughty boy?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble, pressing your hips forward, trying to force more of her hand against you. 

Two of her fingers slide into your mouth, and you suck on them greedily, tasting popsicle and skin and the sickly sweet strawberry cream from the Pocky she was just eating, swirling around in your head to mix with the pounding and the hot throbbing that makes you gasp and shiver, your eyes squeezing shut. “Do you want me to touch your hard cock, naughty boy?” 

“Yes, yes, please….” You’re practically sobbing, sucking hard on her fingers, your tongue tracing along each one. You can feel the bump of her knuckle, and the swirl of her fingernails. 

“Well… girls don’t like doing something for nothing,” she says, and she takes your hand, sliding it down the front of her shirt. You can feel her breast in your hand again, and her skin is hot and sticky under your fingers. Her heart is beating wildly, and her nipple presses against your palm. “So shouldn’t you do something for me before I do something for you?” Her hand moves away from between your legs, to rest on your stomach. 

You whine in spite of yourself, biting your lip and looking at her, confused and feeling something that you don’t have the words for, except that your belly is twisting and churning, your heart thundering like a late summer storm. She’s getting up off of the bench, putting her hands on your shoulders, and she’s straddling you now, her chest against yours, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against yours. The frames of her glasses are pressing against your forehead, and you shiver all over, almost convulsively. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, smell and taste her breath. “W-what do you want me to do, Miss Violet?” 

“Well….” She takes your hand, pressing it against her stomach, the tips of your fingers brushing against her belt. She’s hit you with that belt before, when you were Bad. It made you feel just as funny then, the crack making you shiver and gasp. But right now you’re more interested in the way she’s squirming, rubbing her thighs together as much as she can with you between her legs. “You know that special place between your legs? You know what that’s called?”

“A… a thing,” you mumble, and your face is heating up, your teeth digging into your lower lip. 

“Do you know the name of that thing?” Her hand is still on top of yours, pressing up and up and up, until you’re cupping her breasts in your hand, the nipple hard and warm against your palm, your fingers tracing along the underside. You can feel the crease of the skin, and you can feel the sweat trickling down. 

“It’s… it’s a cock,” you mumble, and you keep your eyes on her chest, shifting your wrist until your fingers are on top of her breast, and you squeeze again, feeling her breath shiver out of her, a warm puff of air across the top of your head. 

“I didn’t hear you.” Her hand on your chin, forcing you to look up into her eyes, and she’s obviously laughing at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. “Do you not want me to touch you?”

“It’s my… it’s my cock,” you say again, eyes darting around nervously to make sure nobody is listening at an open window nearby. The weather is so gorgeously warm, all the windows open, curtains fluttering. 

“Very good,” she says, and her hand is down your pants, squeezing, and your eyes are nearly rolling up as you squirm, because her hands are… her hands are good, and they’re doing things to you that you can’t even begin to think about, except that you can feel heat and something else that you can’t explain or put into words, except that it almost, kinda tastes fizzy and ticklish on the back of your tongue. 

“Ow!” She pulls your hand away from her breast, and you realize somewhat belatedly that you’ve been squeezing her breast too hard – she’s slapped your wrist, and she’s getting off of you, letting go of your cock, and you almost sob, because she’s letting go of you, oh god…. “No. Not like that. You have to be GENTLE with girls.” She frowns at you now, her arms crossed under her breasts, and you can see the hard points of her nipples through the thin fabric. “Are you staring at my boobs?” She grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up, and you can feel your face heating up. “Well?”

“Um… maybe?” You bite your lip, feel your cock throbbing desperate Morse code messages that your brain is too distracted to translate. 

“See, that? That’s a lie. You’re being naughty.” She more or less pulls you upright, pulling your shirt up and over your head. The light comes in teal-turquoise for a sec, when the fabric is over your face, and then it’s roughly over your ears, down your arms, leaving them twisted and trapped as she does… something, who knows what, who can think, because now she’s pushing you over the table, more or less face down, the wood cold against your cheek, and then she’s… she’s pulling your pants down?!

“W-what if someone sees?” You attempt to stand up, but it’s hard to do with one of her hands on your lower back and your hands tied together like this. The windows are open, it’s late afternoon on a weekday… anyone who wants could look right in and see you like this, erection sticking out of your boxers. The idea makes your insides wriggle with humiliation, but something is shivering down your spine to twitch in your cock as well, and you are almost sobbing, so full of something you don’t know how to explain. 

“Then I’ll just tell them I’m teaching my naughty boy a lesson he needs to remember,” she says, and you can’t see what she’s doing, but she’s taken her hand off of your back, and you can hear her footsteps. She’s walking away from you, walking towards… the counter? You hear a drawer open, and you’re confused, trying to figure it out, while you stare down at your popsicle, by now melted to a purplish puddle. 

The first hit is hard and it makes you yelp, jerking forward. The pain flashes from your ass, like sunlight on a mirror. You squirm away, but your cock is also shivering and wriggling, pressing against the wood. 

“So do we grab girl’s boobs too hard?” Another hit, and another, each word punctuated by a hit, raining down on your ass and you are sobbing, your fingers wiggling desperately. You could get out of the shirt quite easily, pull it back over your head, cover up your goosebumped chest, grab her by the shoulders and push her into the wall, kiss her as hard as you can, pull her pants down, slam your cock inside of her and make her moan like the women in some of the movies that you watch late at night when you don’t think anyone is around…. 

Another hit, harder, nearly hitting you in the balls, and you almost snarl, eyes leaking tears. It *hurts*. “Well? Do we?” 

You’re pulled out of your fantasy by the pain, and you gasp and shake your head, mumbling “No, Miss Violet,” in an attempt to get her to stop hitting you so hard. Your ass is now throbbing, a throb to match your heartbeat. 

“No, what?” She slaps you with something else, and you hear the jingle and realize it’s her belt, of course it’s her belt, and you’d be rolling your eyes if your ass wasn’t on fire and your cock wasn’t throbbing like a bad tooth, so hard and sensitive it nearly hurts. 

“No… we don’t stare at women’s boobs, or move too fast, or… or be too rough,” you say in a rush, your toes curling in your socks and your heart thudding like a hammer. “Please, Miss Violet, it *hurts*.” 

“It’s supposed to hurt,” she says, and her hands are on your ass, rubbing it through your boxers, the skin hot and tender. “That’s the only way a naughty boy like you can learn.” 

“N-no, I can learn other ways. I promise.” You squirm, trying not to stare up at her breasts which are outlined in the way she’s leaning forward, trying not to imagine pressing your face against them, licking and biting and kissing. You bite your lip instead, trying to meet her eye. 

“Well… let it not be said I’m not willing to give someone a chance. Even a naughty boy like you.” She grabs you by the shoulder, pulling you upright, and then her hand is once again on your chin, and she’s kissing you, with her tongue and her lips and her teeth, her hand tangled with your hair. “So are you willing to learn something new, something that girls *really* love?”

“Y-yes, Miss Violet,” you say, swallowing thickly. 

“How willing?” Her fingernails are stroking down your back, one on each side of your spine, and you moan, head lolling back, cock twitching against your belly. 

“S-s-so willing, Miss Violet. Anything. Anything for you, please, just… please.” And now you’re begging, and you can’t find it in you to feel even the humiliation, just the desperation throbbing between your legs and the… something twitching in your chest and in your mind.

Miss Violet sits down in front of you, her legs spread wide, and she is smirking. She reaches up casually, one hand on your shoulder, one on your side, and more or less forces you onto your knees. The tile of the kitchen floor is cold against your legs. “Can you guess what color my panties are? If you guess right, I’ll let you see what’s inside of them….”

Your brain sputters for a moment, trying to imagine all of that, trying not to lose whatever bits of language are still flopping around like fish on a dock. “P-p-purple?” That’s always a good attempt – she loves purple, wears so much of it. 

“Well… let’s see….” She slides her pants down, slowly, lifting her ass off of the bench to get the denim off, and her panties are some shade of purpleish pink that you think counts, but then you look up at her and she’s grinning wickedly. “Does this look like purple to you?”

“Um….” You swallow thickly, still squirming on the floor. “Yeah?”

“Well… I suppose… since you’re trying so hard,” she says, and your eyes are glued to her panties, and the way they’re darker at the crotch, and you can smell something different, and you’re squirming, your cock so hard you’re barely noticing the way the tile is hard and tough on your knees, because her panties are going down and…. It’s not what you’re expecting, entirely. Different from all of the things you’ve seen on the computer screen, certainly. You can feel her hand on the back of your head, and you look up at her, almost nervously, but she’s smiling at you wickedly. 

“You wanna make girls *really* like you, right? Well, there’s this special kind of way to kiss them….” Her hand leaves your head, moves in front of your face, and she’s pressing down on one thing in particular, her hips rocking forward, and she’s making these little noises, moans and gasps that make you squirm, make you wish you could use your hands and press down as well. “See that?” 

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, and you wriggle closer, eyes flickering from her face to her hand. 

“That’s called a clit, and girls really *love* when you touch it or lick it. You gotta do it in… little circles like… that….” Her hips are jerking forward, and she’s breathing heavily, her eyes half shut. “Do… you think you… can do that?” She pulls her hand away, reluctantly, and slides it along your mouth, smearing the wetness over your lips. You lick it off, trying to figure out a way to describe the flavor, and give up, other than “vaguely salty”. 

“But… how can I touch it with my arms tied up?” It’s hard to talk with her finger sliding into your mouth, but you somehow manage, your tongue flickering along it, tracing the bottom, feeling her sharpish nails gentle on your palate. 

“Use your mouth. That impresses girls a lot more, and you want to impress girls, don’t you?” Her thumb is tracing your lips, and you nod mutely, everything quiet except for the thunder of your cock and the quiet noise of skin on skin as she traces your lips. 

She lets go of your mouth and shuffles her hips forward, and you lean forward and you can smell her, and then you extend your tongue to feel the one raised spot she was telling you about, the clit, circling it over and over again , flickering against it with the tip of your tongue just for variety’s sake, and to feel her legs squeeze you tighter, hear her gasping and moaning, almost like she’s in pain. She’s swearing as well, one hand in your hair and one hand gripping the table so hard you could almost hear her knuckles creaking. You see her squirming and you’re smiling in spite of yourself – in spite of the desperate way she’s squeezing you, hard enough that it almost hurts, then it does hurt, but she’s breathing harder and her swearing is getting closer together, and she sounds like she’s genuinely in pain, the way all of her body is rigid, but she’s also mumbling “don’t stop, don’t stop”, and you can’t stop, so you keep flickering your tongue, looking up at her almost worriedly, because it’s beginning to get a bit difficult to breathe….

Her whole body goes rigid, arching off the bench, and she’s holding your head in place as she trembles, then goes limp, breathing heavily, and she almost pushes you backwards, then pulls you roughly up onto the bench next to her, and she kisses you, hard, her tongue raking across your lips and teeth, breathing like she’s been running. 

“That’s very good,” she says, and her hand is around your cock, and when did that happen, and who cares in the first place because she’s doing something with her fingers that you don’t know the words for or the colors for or the sounds for, except that it’s hot and sweet and you can feel the muscles in your belly start to twitch, and then your cock is twitching and you can feel… something flowing out of you to spurt across her wrist, and she’s smiling at you, her hair sticking to her face with sweat, and she’s squeezing your cock, trying to get the very last bit out. “Such a good boy.”

“Th-thank you, Miss Violet,” you manage to stammer out, leaning against her and breathing heavily. “And… and that’s what girls like?” 

“Oh, yes,” she says, kissing your temples. “Girls really love when you get cum on their hands. It shows they’ve done a good job.” Then she’s licking your… your cum off of her hand, and you squirm again, feeling the muscles in your belly twitch, although the rest of you is still too tired to really respond. “And if you’re a good boy, and don’t tell anyone… next time I babysit, I’ll show you some more. How does that sound?”

You blush and nod, leaning forward to kiss her timidly, and tasting your own cum and hers. “I… yeah. Yes, please, Miss Violet.” 

She smiles at you, and you blush and look down.


End file.
